


best laid plans

by somehowunbroken



Series: Hoodwing'd [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Realization, Translation available - Chinese, actual relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tim, this is why revenge dating should never be a thing," Steph chides. He can hear her smiling through the phone. "You never know what'll happen."</p><p>"It was supposed to be funny," he says, frowning.</p><p>Steph snickers. "Oh, have no fear. It's totally hilarious."</p>
            </blockquote>





	best laid plans

The plan works perfectly.

After walking in on Tim and Damian's brilliant little performance, Dick and Jason had scaled their level of PDA down by several orders of magnitude. Since then, if they're doing anything less innocent than leaning against each other on the sofa when Tim or Damian walks in, they stop immediately. There's no way that can be counted as anything less than a complete success.

The only thing that throws a wrench into the overall plan is that he and Damian have to keep up the whole touchy-feely thing when they're around the rest of the family. It's not a big deal, not really; it means that Tim does some of his work with his feet in Damian's lap, and they watch a few movies together. There are goodnight kisses, and they patrol together when their schedules allow for the overlap. For the most part, it's not a big deal.

Not for the first few weeks, anyway.

"So," Dick says one night. "You guys know that you don't have to sneak around, right?"

Tim blinks. They've been nitpicking the original _Star Trek_ episodes apart for the past couple of hours, and Tim has his head in Damian's lap while Damian plays with his hair. Dick and Jason have been doing their own safe-for-public-consumption couple-y thing on the other sofa, and it's been a pretty good night, all around. "Excuse me?"

Dick looks a little uncomfortable. "Well, I mean, we all _know_ now. Jay and I share a room, so if you guys are…" He trails off and coughs. "Anyway, yeah, just wanted to point it out. There's no need to hide it now that it's out in the open."

"Dick's afraid we're going to run into one of you doing the walk of shame one of these nights," Jason snorts. "Me, I think you're both sneakier than that, but better safe than sorry."

"Oh," Tim says, blinking again. "I – well."

Damian's fingers tighten slightly in his hair. "It's a good point," he says, just loud enough that it'll carry to the other sofa. "It would make things… easier."

"We'll talk about it," Tim promises, and Damian gives him the smile that makes Tim smile back, the one that's slightly conspiratorial and brighter than he ever thought Damian could smile.

Jason makes gagging noises. They both ignore him.

-0-

They end up moving to a new room together mostly because they can't think of a good reason not to, not without giving up the game. Tim points out that it'll be weird to move back out when they stage their breakup in a few months; Damian brings up the fast that they'll have to share a bed. For all of their personal objections, though, they decide that the long game is worth the short-term discomfort.

"At least it's a big bed," Tim notes, bringing another laundry basket of clothing into the room. There are two walk-in closets and three dressers in the room, so there's plenty of space, and they won't have to mix their clothing together. There's very little chance of them accidentally wearing each other's things unless they were unbearably tired – Damian had passed Tim's stature when he was fifteen, and now that he's fully grown, Tim would swim in his clothing – but keeping those lines intact makes both of them more comfortable.

"It is," Damian agrees. "We shouldn't have any problems."

"Yeah, uh, about that," Tim says, walking to his dresser and starting to put his shirts away. "I'm… I flail. A lot."

Damian eyes him warily. "I make no promises that I won't strike back if you hit me when we're sleeping."

"I won't mean to," Tim says. "I just – nightmares, you know? And when I'm fighting in my sleep…"

There's a moment of somewhat uncomfortable silence before Damian sighs. "I have them, too. I'll do my best to not retaliate if you can forgive me for my… flailing."

"Done," Tim replies, relieved. "Do you starfish?"

"Do I _what_?"

"Starfish," Tim repeats. "You know, when you sleep." He turns around and raises his arms over his head, balancing on one leg and sticking the other one out. "I don't take up a ton of room, and the bed is big, but we're going to have problems if you expand in your sleep."

"I do not," Damian says, clearly affronted. "I sleep on my side. Do _you_ starfish?"

"Nope," Tim says. "I'm a side-sleeper, too."

"Good," Damian says. They look at each other for a minute, and the tension in the room gets a little thicker as the seconds tick by. Damian clears his throat and grabs Tim's laundry basket after a moment. "I'm going to get the last of my clothing."

"Good," Tim echoes. "I'm going to… yeah."

-0-

They get back from a particularly rough patrol about an hour later than they'd meant to. Jason has a cut on his upper arm that will need stitches, and Damian is unsuccessfully trying to hide a limp from Alfred. He'd landed wrong when he'd dropped in to assist Tim with a gang fight downtown, and the fact that he'd spent so much time on the street concealing it means it has to be killing him by this point. Tim drops down beside the bench as soon as Damian gets his boots off. "Let me see."

"I'm fine," Damian grumbles.

"Damian," Tim says warningly, reaching for his foot. Damian sighs and props it in Tim's hand. He moves Damian's foot around, pressing gently at his ankle. He nods after a moment, satisfied. "You'll be fine with some ice and ibuprofen. Nothing's broken."

"I know," he mutters. "Thank you for checking."

Tim notices Dick looking their way, so he smiles warmly. "Of course. Let's get what you need and I'll help you upstairs, okay?"

"Okay," Damian murmurs. He lets Tim help him up, then pulls him in for a kiss when he sees Dick. Tim doesn't realize it's a lingering kind of kiss until he hears Dick coughing behind them. Tim pulls back, feeling his face flushing as he turns.

"I got your ice and meds," Dick says, holding them out. "Jay kicked me out of the med bay until after his stitches are done, so I figured I'd help out here."

Tim frowns, breaking away from Damian to get the items from Dick. "Everything okay?"

"Apparently I hover," Dick mutters, which makes Damian snort. When Tim raises an eyebrow, Damian just points at the things Dick had brought over.

"Thanks, Dick," Tim says, smiling a little. "I'm sure Jason will be fine."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he says sullenly, glancing back at the med bay.

Tim hums. "Yeah, tell me about it." He walks back over to Damian, handing him the pills. Damian swallows them dry, then allows Tim to wrap an arm around his waist and guide them towards the stairs.

The combination of hurt and tired makes Damian lean on Tim more and more the farther into the house they walk, and Tim mentally curses the fact that their new room is a longer walk than their old rooms had been. He'd just dump Damian in his old room and be done with it for the night, but Alfred had stripped their old beds when they moved out, and he's not going to let Damian sleep on a bare mattress. That's definitely crossing some sort of fake boyfriend line.

"Almost there," he says, adjusting Damian's arm over his shoulder. "I thought it didn't hurt that badly?"

"I lied," Damian says, strain evident in his voice. "It was more important for Pennyworth to stitch Todd's arm than to attend to my ankle. I'm not bleeding."

"We could have stayed down there for long enough to dig out the crutches," Tim says, exasperated. "You could have let me wrap it for you. It's only going to get worse if you leave it."

Damian sighs as they turn into the room. "There's an Ace bandage in the bathroom if you're that concerned about it."

"Of course I'm concerned about it," Tim grumbles. "Idiot."

Tim dumps Damian onto the bed and heads into the bathroom, and it only takes him a minute to locate the bandage and bring it back into the bedroom. Damian has the ice resting against his ankle, but Tim can see that it's already bruising underneath. He sighs and sits by Damian's feet, catching the uninjured one in his hands and massaging at his good ankle. Damian groans and leans back, letting Tim dig his fingers in.

He lessens the pressure when someone raps against the doorframe. They both turn to see Jason in the hall, looking a little worse for the wear. "Alfred said you banged your ankle. Everything okay?"

"I'll be fine," Damian mutters, arm across his face. "Timothy is going to wrap it for me, and then we're going to sleep."

Jason snickers. "Sleep. Is that what they're calling it now?"

Tim flushes, but the way Damian shifts makes his eyes snap up. His fingers freeze on Damian's ankle when he notices the bulge in Damian's shorts.

"Goodnight, Jason," Tim says, his voice strained. "Don't bleed on the sheets, or Alfred will make you clean them."

"Have fun, kids," Jason singsongs, pulling the door closed after himself.

"Sorry," Tim mutters, dropping Damian's foot and reaching for the Ace bandage. "I'll just wrap your foot and, um, go to the bathroom. I'll take another shower, and you can… do whatever."

"You're too kind," Damian says dryly. "Ignore it. I promise it'll go away if I don't give it any attention." He pauses. "And if you don't go back to the massage."

"Yeah, foot massages are off the table," Tim says, wrapping Damian's ankle quickly. He doesn't look up as he works. "Memo received."

"It was nice," Damian says, and he suddenly sounds half-asleep. "I don't mind you touching me, Timothy."

"Uh," Tim says. "Good?"

Damian hums, and Tim starts to wonder if Dick had slipped some kind of sedative to Damian along with the anti-inflammatories. It wouldn’t surprise him; Damian has a bad habit of walking around when he should be resting. Damian pats Tim's side of the bed a little hazily. "Come. Sleep."

"Right," Tim says weakly. "I'll do that."

He gets up and changes into pajamas. Damian is blinking owlishly, clearly trying to keep himself awake, and Tim grins at him as he walks back to the bed. "Get under the covers, or you'll wake up grumpy and cold in a few hours."

"Not grumpy," Damian complains, and Tim snickers as he helps Damian roll under the covers.

"Whatever you say," Tim says, walking around the bed and climbing in the other side.

-0-

Damian is off patrol until his ankle heals, which means he's the cranky voice in Tim's ear for a few nights. He complains bitterly about being kept in while Jason is allowed out with a hole in him, but Alfred just hums and reminds Damian that Jason had asked for help, and perhaps next time he'd be wiser to do the same. There's no pity to be had, and Damian seems to be taking this out on everyone tuned into Bat Radio.

"I am only saying," he says crisply, losing his contractions in what Tim guesses is mostly a fit of pique, "that I would be of more use to the Mission out there than I am in here."

"No dice," Dick says cheerily. "Not until Red Robin says you can walk without a limp."

"Why is it his call?" Damian pretty much whines.

"Because if we left it up to you, you'd be out here already," Dick replies. There's the sound of a grapple being shot, and then air whistling as Dick flies. "Hence, you don't get to make the call."

"Maybe tomorrow," Tim promises. "I'm not going to sideline you for any longer than is necessary."

"I know," Damian grumbles. "That doesn't mean that I have to – wait."

There's a moment of tension as Tim comes to a stop on a rooftop. Damian is silent for almost a full minute. "Blackbird? What's going on?"

"Red Robin, you are closest," Damian says. "Four blocks east, two south. An alarm has been tripped at the Museum of Natural History."

"On it," Tim says, already running for the edge of the roof. He dives off the edge and shoots his grapple, swinging to the next building. "Any additional info?"

"I'm working on it," Damian says tersely. "The security footage appears to be looped. I have nothing from inside the building."

"That's always a great sign," Jason says. "I'm a fifteen-minute drive out. I'll head that way."

Dick sighs. "Call me for backup if you need me. I have to keep an eye on non-museum things if everyone else is tied up."

"I should be out there," Damian says, clearly aggravated. "If I wrap my ankle-"

"We'll be fine, Blackbird," Tim says as soothingly as he can manage, coming to rest across the street from the museum. "I'm in position. Anything new?"

"The police appear to be en route, but slowly," Damian replies. "Expect company in half an hour, but no sooner."

"Ten minutes, little red," Jason says. "You should wait it out."

Tim snorts. "Not a shot, Hood. I'm going silent until I've got news."

"Acknowledged," Damian says, but he doesn’t sound happy about it.

Tim spends a few minutes flicking through carious feeds on his mask, trying to get a feel for whatever he's about to get into. The problem with the museum is that it's one of the oldest buildings in the city; it survived the earthquakes, which means that it's solidly built. He can't get any readings from inside while he's still outside, so he takes a breath and descends into the alley, making his way across the street and into the building.

It's dark. It's way darker than it's supposed to be; Tim knows for a fact that there should be security lighting, and most of the displays have indicator lights for temperature and air pressure. There's not a single light on as far as Tim can tell, so he switches his mask to infrared and heads deeper into the exhibits.

"Three minutes out," Jason says over the comm. "I'm assuming no news is good news."

"As am I," Damian says curtly. "Red Robin, can you turn your mask's feed on?"

Tim shrugs and complies. There's not a lot to see; it's still dark, so-

"To your left," Damian snaps. Tim turns just in time to catch something hard to the face, and then the lights really go out.

-0-

Tim groans and turns his head, blinking until his vision clears. There's a fight going on somewhere nearby, and Tim has a hazy thought about the safety of the priceless artifacts in the museum before he forces it away and makes himself focus.

"S'going on?" he asks, looking around.

"Red Robin," Damian says frantically. "Are you injured?"

"Headache," Tim admits. "I might have a concussion. Not sure. I got knocked out." He pauses. "Is that Hood?"

"Yeah," Jason answers. "I got here about a minute after you went down. You've been under for about ten." He goes quiet, and Tim hears something hit the ground in the direction that the fighting sounds had been coming from. "These guys were trying to make a getaway, but don't you worry, little buddy. I got 'em all for you."

"Thanks," Tim says dryly. "My knight in a shining dildo helmet."

"I ditched that thing ages ago," Jason says, wounded. "The new helmet is awesome."

Someone kneels next to Tim, and he tilts his head back to see Dick perched above him. "Hey, little brother. Rough night, huh?"

"Yes," Tim mutters. "Can we go home? Can _I_ go home?"

"Don't let him drive," Damian says immediately. "He might be concussed, and-"

Dick laughs. "I'll get him back to you in one piece," he promises. "Breathe, Blackbird."

"I'm fine," Tim says quietly. "I swear I am."

The only reply is in Arabic, too low and fast for Tim to make out when his head is pounding. Jason snickers when he hears it, though, so Tim can only assume it's not complimentary.

Dick helps him up, and Tim thanks any god that might be listening for the fact that he's got the Batmobile tonight instead of his bike. With Bruce on League business, they're supposed to drive it around on a nightly basis. The Batman is enough of a myth that people will swear to seeing him in every corner if they so much as hear the engine roar nearby. Tim leans on Dick as they walk out, trying not to collapse into the passenger's seat. He fumbles with the belt while Dick walks around and gets in. Definitely concussed, he thinks.

"We're on our way," Dick says. "Red, don't fall asleep until I get you back. You're not tracking right, and I'd really rather you get checked out before you black out."

Tim can hear Damian huff over the comm. "Switch his communicator to a private channel," he instructs, and Tim frowns, unsure of what he's saying. Dick's hand cups Tim's face and turns it, and then he flicks the side of Tim's mask, and – oh. Right.

Definitely, definitely concussed.

"D?" he asks, shifting his head back to a comfortable position.

"Talk to me about _Star Wars_ ," Damian says. "Tell me about… Bobby Fett."

" _Boba_ Fett," Tim corrects. "He's a bounty hunter."

"Yes, right," Damian replies. "Which side was he working for? I have to admit, I wasn't paying that much attention when you made me watch the films."

"Not fair," Tim scolds. "They're classics. We're gonna watch them again. And pay attention this time."

"Boba Fett," Damian coaches, more gently than Tim was expecting. "Tell me more."

Tim rambles for a while, drifting from character to character. He's got a lot of _Star Wars_ knowledge saved up, so it's not hard for him to do. He knows what Damian's trying to do; if he keeps talking, he stays awake. It's a great tactic, but it doesn't mean that Tim isn't going to use the excuse Damian handed him to make him rewatch the movies.

"Tim?" Dick cuts in. Tim stops mid-word, turning to face Dick. He's smiling. "We're back at the Cave."

"Oh," Tim says, frowning at the windshield. "Yeah. I see that." He fumbles with his seatbelt for a moment; for some reason, it's a lot harder to unbuckle than it had been to fasten in the first place. He forces himself to blink a few times, trying to focus, before Dick snickers and presses the release for him. The seatbelt retracts with a whooshing sound, and Tim gropes for the door handle.

He finds it just in time to have the door fall away. Or, no, not quite; Damian is crouched beside him, and Tim prides himself on realizing that Damian must have opened the door. He smiles, and Damian frowns. "Timothy."

"Damian," Tim says, leaning forward. He was aiming for a hug, but he's not at his most coordinated; he ends up falling more than leaning, and it takes Damian a minute to get them both out of the car and standing. "Sorry. I think the concussion is… a thing that happened."

"I'll say," Damian mutters. "What did you get hit with?"

"A pipe," Dick replies. "Jason took care of them, have no fear. You need help with Floppy McGee there?"

"I can get him to the medical area," Damian says. "If you could ring for Pennyworth, that would be appreciated."

"On it," Dick says, heading away.

Tim focuses on walking, trying to take more of his own weight back. Damian keeps his arm firmly around Tim's waist, and after a few wobbly steps, Tim decides that it's probably fine to let Damian take a little more of his weight, just this once.

"My head hurts," Tim volunteers.

Damian shifts them a little. "You were hit in the face with a pipe. I don't care how much impact your cowl can absorb, that's still going to hurt."

"Better than if I wasn't wearing the cowl," Tim points out. "That would be bad."

He can feel Damian's hand tighten on his hip even through his uniform. "Yes. That would be bad."

"Huh," Tim says as Damian helps him turn and sit on the gurney in the med bay. "Dami?"

"Yes?"

"I think I'm going to throw up," Tim says, and then he does exactly that.

-0-

By the time morning rolls around, the headache has receded a little; the confusion, thankfully, is gone entirely. Tim groans and stretches his legs, but keeps his eyes shut. He can tell he's still on the gurney in the Cave, which means fluorescent lights. He's not sure his head can take that.

"Timothy," a raspy voice says. Tim jerks and groans again as his brain rattles in his skull.

"Damian?" he asks, turning his head more gently and opening his eyes a little. Yeah, that's definitely Damian in the chair beside the gurney. He looks… exactly like he's spent all night in a chair, actually, and Tim frowns. "Did you sleep down here?"

"Well, someone hit my bedmate in the face with a pipe," Damian drawls. "I figured I'd force him to keep me company anyway."

"You're ridiculous," Tim says, smiling anyway. "Everyone else is okay, right? I'm a little fuzzy on the details."

"Everyone is fine," Damian says. "Grayson came back here with you, and Todd stayed at the scene until the police arrived. He assures me that the perpetrators were taken care of." There's a dark smile on his face that Tim decides not to ask about. His head hurts too much right now.

"Acetaminophen?" he asks instead. "And something to eat, please." He winces. "Did I throw up on you?"

"I move quickly," Damian says dryly. "It was a near miss."

Tim breathes a sigh of relief. "Sorry."

Damian shrugs as he retrieves a glass of water and a couple of pills. "Concussions happen. Don't worry about it."

The water is lukewarm, and once Tim drinks half the glass and swallows the pills, Damian helps him get out of bed and make his way to the stairs. He looks like he'd rather carry Tim up than let him walk, but Tim resolutely ignores him and starts climbing.

He makes it all the way up, one step at a time, but he doesn't protest when Damian catches his elbow at the entrance to the Manor proper. Damian wraps an arm around his waist again, walking with him to the dining room. He helps Tim sit before taking his place next to him, and if it weren't for the fact that Jason and Dick are in the room as well, it'd feel… almost real.

Tim blames the concussion entirely for the warmth that the thought brings.

-0-

After two days of forced bed rest with nothing more than books to entertain him, Tim is ready to climb the walls. Damian had been cleared for patrol since Tim had been sidelined, but since Tim's concussion made him prone to needing naps, he hadn't been allowed to take Damian's place at the computer banks. He's currently sitting grouchily in the med bay restocking first aid kits while Alfred mans the computer.

One of the vehicles returns earlier than he was expecting, and Tim turns to see Damian dismounting his motorcycle in the parking area. His Blackbird gear is made even sleeker with the addition of the motorcycle helmet, though Tim won't ever tell him that; the last thing they need is another vigilante in a hood running around. He grins as Damian approaches. "How was patrol?"

"Boring," Damian grumbles. "Grayson sent me back early."

"You didn't re-injure your ankle, did you?" Tim asks, narrowing his eyes.

Damian straightens immediately, striding over without any traces of his limp. "I'm fine."

"You're lying," Tim says, shoving Damian's shoulder as he leans over. He grabs one of the kits he'd restocked and rummages through it, finding the ibuprofen packet. "Here. Take this and sit down so I can look at your ankle. Again."

Damian sighs but obeys, and Alfred hums from the console, clearly amused. Tim slips off of the gurney he'd been using as a bench and crouches by Damian's feet. It takes a minute to get his boot off and the leg of his uniform rolled up, but when he does, Tim sighs. "Damian…"

"It's nothing," he says dismissively. "I landed hard. It might be a bit bruised, but I should be fine with some ice and some rest."

Alfred makes his way over, looking critically at Damian's ankle. He nods after a moment, getting an ice pack from the freezer and bringing it over. "Might I suggest that both of you retire for the night?"

"We hardly need to-"

"Thanks, Alfred," Tim cuts in, using the gurney to pull himself up. "That sounds great." Damian glares, but Tim ignores it. "Tell Dick and Jason we went up, but not to worry, okay?"

"Indeed," Alfred replies, smiling a little. "Do have a good night, sirs."

"You too, Alfred," Tim says.

Damian grumbles, but heads for the changing area when Tim points. He's in soft gray sweats and a tee when he comes out, and Tim forces back a smile when he sees Damian moving slowly. They start up the stairs, and by the time they near the top, Damian's limp has become more pronounced. Tim tries not to feel too smug as they open up the clock and step out into the Manor.

"Stop smirking," Damian says without turning around. "It's unbecoming."

Tim snorts. "Stop whining. It's way worse."

Damian turns back and raises an eyebrow. His mouth tightens when he bends his ankle quickly, so Tim slips an arm around his waist and walks beside him as they head to their room.

"We're kind of a mess," Tim sighs when they finally make it. "You with your ankle, me with my head. If we patrol together, we'll probably bring a building down on top of ourselves."

Damian hums noncommittally, and Tim rolls his eyes as he shuts the door. Damian is sitting on the bed when he turns back around, leg already propped up on the bed. Tim walks over and fiddles with the ice pack, adjusting it so it's firmly against the bruised part of Damian's ankle. Damian lets him fuss for a minute before tapping Tim's arm with his other foot. "Change, Timothy. Your head has to be killing you."

"It's not that bad," Tim objects, but he heads towards his dresser to grab some pajamas anyway. "Alfred wouldn't let me do anything with the computers. I was stuck sorting gauze and tape all night."

"Poor you," Damian says dryly. There's a pause as Tim changes, and when Tim turns around, Damian is looking at him strangely. "Is that my shirt?"

Tim looks down. Sure enough, the shirt is one of Damian's. Tim groans and starts to pull it off. "Part of me thinks Alfred mixes our clothes up on purpose just because he knows we have separate dressers."

"Leave it on," Damian says. He's got a weird look on his face, but hey, Tim's not going to argue about not having to change again, so he shrugs and drops the hem. 

"Turn the lamp on," Tim says as he walks towards the door. He hears the click of the lamp and flicks the switch; there's plenty of light for him to see by, so he makes his way to the bed and climbs in. Neither of them is used to going to sleep this early, and Tim hadn't been lying about his head feeling fine. They lay side-by-side for a few minutes until Damian sighs.

"Timothy," he starts, but when Tim turns, he doesn't go on.

"Damian," he says, drawing it out. "Everything okay over there?"

"It's only…" Damian snorts and closes his eyes, shaking his head. He says something under his breath, but before Tim can ask what it was, Damian is leaning in and kissing him softly.

They kiss goodnight all the time; it's part of their little ritual before leaving the Cave each night. It's what Jason calls their "touchy-feely couple crap," and Tim's gotten used to his nightly kisses since they started this whole thing. This is more hesitant than what he's used to, but it's no less enjoyable.

Damian groans when Tim parts his lips, sliding his hand into Tim's hair and tugging lightly. Tim turns his head obligingly, and then Damian is rolling them, sliding Tim down the bed and stretching out beside him. His free hand goes to Tim's hip, and Tim lets out a really embarrassing sound when Damian's thumb slips under his shirt to press against his skin.

Tim quickly loses track of time. He's pressed against Damian's chest; Damian's hand is still cupping his hip, so Tim lets his hand wander. He runs his fingers along Damian's back, tracing his shoulder blades through the thin material of his tee. Damian shudders when Tim traces along the back of his neck, and Tim presses even closer, throwing his leg over Damian's so they're touching everywhere. Damian breaks off the kiss with a groan, tightening his fingers on Tim's hip when Tim tries to pull away.

"Damian," Tim says, and wow, his voice is a lot rougher than he was expecting. Damian must hear it too, because his eyes snap to Tim's face. Tim swallows. "If this is too much-"

"No," Damian growls. He starts moving his hand in Tim's hair, and Tim wonders if he's aware that it's a soothing motion. "I… am enjoying this."

"So am I," Tim says. "But-"

"Do you want to stop?"

Tim stares for a moment before shaking his head. "Not really."

"Then don't," Damian says, leaning back in.

-0-

Tim's had enough practice at waking up suddenly to convincingly fake still being asleep when it happens. Damian is clearly trying to be quiet; it might have worked, too, if his ankle hadn't been bruised to hell and back. Tim keeps his breathing even and waits for Damian to leave the room before blinking his eyes open.

He gets about five solid breaths in before he starts panicking.

It's after ten, which means the "don't call me unless it's an emergency" rule is no longer in effect, so Tim grabs his cell phone from the bedstand and dials the only person who knows that the him-and-Damian thing is fake. It rings twice before being picked up with a cheery hello.

"Steph," Tim says. "Do you have a minute?"

"That depends," Steph says. "Is this job-related? If it is, I'm here to remind you that it's my day off, and I'm going to be mightily pissed if I'm needed this early."

"No." Tim blows out a breath and curls into the blankets. "It's Damian-related."

"Ah," Steph says. He can hear her yawn. "Well, lay it on me."

Tim hesitates. "I think I might… actually like him. We spent a good portion of last night making out, and… yeah." There's a prolonged silence, then the sound of the phone being gently placed against something. "Steph?"

That's when the laughing starts.

"I can hear you," he complains into the phone.

"I know, sweetie, but I can't hold the phone and laugh at the same time," she replies, gasping a little. "You're on speaker. Go ahead; tell me more."

"Why aren't you helping me? I need help!"

"Oh no," Steph wails dramatically. "I've fallen in love with my boyfriend. What will I do?" She starts laughing again.

Tim screws his eyes shut and curls his fingers in his hair. "This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Tim, this is why revenge dating should never be a thing," Steph chides. He can hear her smiling through the phone. "You never know what'll happen."

"It was supposed to be funny," he says, frowning.

Steph snickers. "Oh, have no fear. It's totally hilarious."

"You're not helping," Tim says again. It definitely bears repeating.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know!" Tim says loudly. "I just – you're supposed to help! Isn't that what friends are for?"

"Tim," Steph starts, sighing.

Tim shushes her when the bedroom door opens and Damian sticks his head in, frowning. "I thought you were still sleeping," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I'll talk to you later," he mutters into the phone, hanging up and tossing it down on the bed. He's going to owe Steph something for that, he's sure, but it's not like he can continue freaking out about Damian when the man is standing in front of him.

Damian sits on the bed next to Tim and frowns at his phone. "Did Todd or Grayson do… something?" he asks. "They've been quiet this morning. I assumed they were still asleep, but I wouldn't actually be surprised if they were being irritating."

Tim looks at him, but Damian's face remains concerned. There's no hint of him playing at anything, and it suddenly clicks for Tim, that he might not be the only one in the "oh, shit, I fell in love with my fake boyfriend" boat.

Which, okay, the making out probably should have told him that, but he's a little slow on the emotional uptake sometimes.

He stares at Damian for a little while, blinking slowly, until Damian somehow frowns even harder. "Timothy? Are you… is something wrong?"

Tim shakes his head and sits up. He leans into Damian's space, and when Damian doesn't pull away, kisses him. It's just a brush of lips, but Damian sways towards him a little, and Tim presses more firmly or a moment before pulling back. Damian's eyes are halfway closed, and the frown has disappeared.

"I'm fine," he says. "Everything's kind of great, actually."

Damian leans back a little and eyes him suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

Tim laughs. "Hell. I really, really wasn't expecting to actually fall for you, you know?"

Damian freezes, and Tim feels the blood rush to his face. He waits, but Damian just stays there, motionless. Tim forces himself to take a deep breath and slide away. He pastes a smile onto his face. "Or, you know. Not a big deal."

Tim goes to stand, but Damian grabs his wrist. "You are… you have… what?"

"It's fine, Damian," Tim says. "We always planned to stage the breakup, right? So we'll push it up a little. I don't want you to be uncomfortable with how I feel."

Damian stays frozen for a moment, his fingers still wrapped around Tim's wrist. Tim tugs gently, but instead of letting go, Damian pulls him forward. Tim thumps against his chest, surprised, but then Damian's arms circle around him.

Oh. A hug.

It's a really nice hug, too. Tim has been the recipient of his fair share, contrary to what Dick would say, but this is definitely a great hug. Damian is stroking his back lightly, and he's against someone solid and warm. Damian hugs aren't something he's used to, but Tim thinks he really could become acclimated quickly.

"Damian," he says after a few minutes of being held. "This is nice, it is, but I'm starting to get a cramp."

Instead of letting go, Damian topples them over. They squirm around and rearrange a little, but they end up sort of laying-down-hugging. Dick would call it cuddling, but Dick is thankfully not here, so Tim's sticking with his definition.

"So," Tim says once they've stopped fidgeting. "It seems like we should probably discuss. Uh. This."

Damian hums. "I would like for this - all of what we have been pretending, everything that the family thinks - to be real."

Tim blinks. "That's… huh. Yeah, okay."

Damian rolls his eyes. "You are hopeless. All of that fuss for 'yeah, okay'?"

"Damian, we've been fake dating for weeks. I only realized we were _actually_ dating last night."

"And Grandfather believes that you'll be Father's replacement someday," Damian sighs. "Truly, you aren't the detective he thinks you are."

Tim hums, stroking his hand down Damian's side until he's touching just above Damian's hip. He digs his fingers in mercilessly, not stopping when Damian starts cackling.

Really, the best thing about this whole fake-actually-real-dating thing has been finding out that Damian is incredibly ticklish.

"Ah! No!" Damian squawks, batting ineffectually at Tim. "Unhand me, Drake!"

"Oh, I don’t think so," Tim says, grinning as he dodges Damian's flailing. "I'm totally the detective in this relationship. Admit it and I'll stop."

"Pigs will fly first," Damian wheezes.

Tim relents when Damian's face starts getting darker than is strictly healthy. Damian takes a moment to catch his breath before pulling Tim down on top of him. He's honestly expecting some sort of retaliation, but instead they just rest for a little while, Tim sprawled across Damian's chest as Damian plays with his hair.

"Hm," Damian says out of nowhere.

"'Hm'?" Tim asks. "What's 'hm' for?"

"I was just thinking," Damian says, all fake-nonchalant. "We should practice. Todd and Grayson believe that we've had this sort of relationship all along; it wouldn't do to give them any reason to doubt us."

Tim blinks. "Practice?"

Damian slides his hand into Tim's hair and kisses him again, and yeah, okay, Tim can get into some practice.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been translated into Chinese by Sachiel! [View it here](http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-179546-1-1.html).
> 
> This fic has also been translated into Russian by keisy20! [View it here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3073961/9862405#part_content).


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